The Letter
by mioneronxoxo
Summary: Severus Snape visits the destroyed Potter house hours after Voldemort has fallen. What will he find there? And what will he do?


**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Just to say, I adore Snape: he is one of my favourite characters. he is also one of the most complex: He is a very flawed hero, spiteful and cruel yet brave and selfless at the same time. This is how I think he would react. I own no characters in this story: the wonderfully fabulous J.K. Rowling does. Please read and review :)**

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><p>Severus stared at her corpse, broken and empty in front of him.<p>

Where had she gone?

He remembered the first time he'd ever seen her, 11 years earlier. She'd been alone, running around the park. Severus remembered that she had had no reason to run; and yet she did so, just for the joy of it. He had sat in the tree with his book, watching her. She had seemed to be so self-contained; existing in her own galaxy, which took the colours of the normal universe and intensified them, so that every experience was heightened: every step she took was significant. She had wandered into a muggle play area, with a tree house accessed by a rope ladder. She had climbed up the rope ladder like the muggles did; but instead of climbing back down it, she had leaped from the top of the tree, and floated down delicately like a falling red leaf, landing gracefully back on earth. She had been beautiful to him from that moment.

He had rarely seen her alone after that; she had always been with that blonde, angular sister of hers. He had always seemed to be waiting for her. He had waited her entire life. He had waited for her, and loved her. He had vowed never to hurt her.

But now, he had killed her.

In trying to forget his love for her, he had killed her.

He had always loved her, a deep, desperate, bitter, possessive love. He had wanted to be the only one to have her attention: no other could be allowed a small part of her. He had been jealous; and in that jealousy, he had lost her. He did not know why she was different: she just was. He had despised the others like her, been told by the likes of Lucius Malfoy that her sort were inferior to those with a higher blood status. But then he had looked at her, and it was inconceivable that her being was worth less than pure-blood scum like Black or that disgustingly arrogant half-blood Potter.

Potter.

He despised the name like nothing else. Sometimes he feared that his hate for all those that bared that name was greater than his love for Lily Evans herself.

Lily.

And now she was dead on the ground in front of him, her beautiful green eyes fixed forever, staring without seeing at the small, dark boy standing in the cot behind her.

Sobs wracked Severus' body. Sobs of rage. Why did she have to die for the boy in front of him? Why could she not be standing here in front of him, heart empty now that Potter and his son had been killed, ready to love him, ready to take up her rightful place as the one that loved him back?

He stared with loathing at the boy, approaching the cot. The boy gurgled happily, reaching towards his mother, wanting her to wake up from her game. Severus could not bare the hope in Lily's son's eyes. He turned on his tail, and made to leave.

"Mama..."

Severus stopped dead in his tracks. The boy turned huge, green eyes towards him, tiny eyebrows furrowed in quizzical bewilderment.

"Dada?" he asked Severus. And then, "Dada!" more insistently, his small, round face crumpling.

Severus hissed softly at the reminder of the man to whom he had lost his Lily. His beautiful Lily.

He hated everything about this baby, as it all reminded him of that man who had defiled her. This was the embodiment of what he had lost, of what he could have had. Of what he never would have.

He remembered the day he had lost Lily: the look of pure sorrow in her eyes when she had told him that they could no longer be friends. The righteous anger in Potter's eyes when, in his humiliation, he had called Lily a mudblood.

Severus had invented _sectumsempra_ after that incident, determined to use it on Potter whenever he gave Lily grief: but instead, he had seen them walking across the courtyard holding hands, and had instead felt every ounce of hope left in his body leave him. He could not hurt Potter without hurting Lily, and that was inconceivable to him.

Severus had taken further refuge in the Dark Arts when he had lost Lily, as there was no reminder of her to be found in it. But, as he was used to, he had ruined everything. It didn't seem to matter what path he took: he was condemned to damnation. He loved Lily, and had lost her; he had wandered into the shadows, and killed her.

Sobs, of grief this time, left his thin, bloodless lips and he fell to his knees, covering Lily's body with his own. It was so small and so soft beneath him. He stroked her auburn hair, and defiantly kissed her lips. Inside, he smiled. Potter would have hated him touching her.

But something wasn't right. Over her heart, there was an irregular rigid square in a pocket of the jacket she was wearing, in contrast to the rest of her supple, smooth, still form. Severus carefully reached into her jacket, hands trembling, and withdrew a letter.

Severus couldn't believe it what he has holding in his hands.

It was her writing. Hers.

The creamy, thick parchment felt heavy in his hand, for it held Lily's heart. Severus smiled ironically. It was the first time in his life that he'd held her love in his hands; and yet, he held as little control over vivacious Lily Evans as he ever had.

The envelope was addressed to Harry in her sloping, elegant handwriting. Severus traced the loop of her 'y', remembering how she used to stick her tongue out of the side of her mouth when they had studied together and she was concentrating hard. Severus could have watched her for hours, watched her just read and write forever.

He opened the envelope, and started to read.

_Dear Harry,_

_If you are reading this, I am dead. I am sorry that I have not been able to watch you grow up to be the amazing man i am sure you have become. _

_I have loved you for every second of your existence; from when you were just a fluttering thought in me and your father's minds, to the bouncing boy you became. I have never been happier than I have been in the time I have spent with you. I would never have spent the last years of my life with anyone but you. My memories of you have become my most treasured possessions._

_I read you stories when you were rolling around in my womb, and I know you liked them: you kicked me when you didn't. Do you remember your fascination with your father's glasses? You used to reach out and snatch at them when they caught the light. Do you remember when you first learned to crawl, and you crawled under your father's invisibility cloak and fell asleep, and we spent all afternoon looking for you until you woke up, crying? I have never been so scared in my life as I was then: my heart felt as if it was jumping out of my chest, and it was: it was beating towards you._

_I don't suppose you remember all this. You were so young. And now, I am sure, you are so big! I can't see you as anything but your father: but I can't imagine you'd want to be anything else. He is the best person I know._

_The one piece of advice I will give you, Harry, is to never judge a person by what they say to you: but by how they act towards you. Never be afraid to look deeper than what you see or hear: trust what you have to say yourself. If I hadn't done that with your father, you wouldn't be here. I am sure you will hear many stories about him in your life, not all complementary: but don't judge him. Those who are born knowing and doing the right thing are good: but those who experience and act for the worst and then see the error in their ways and turn towards the right path are the truly great._

_Have a long and happy life, Harry. Never be sad that I was never there to see you. I am sad that I didn't get to witness your great milestones: but know that I am watching you, my beautiful boy, and that I will never, and have never, loved any creature as much as I love you and I loved your father. I could never have been blessed with a lovelier and happier family than the one I was given, and for the time I did get to spend with you am I grateful._

_Know that you are special, Harry, and that if I did die, I did it so that you could live a better life. Never feel guilty: it was a willing sacrifice, and one that I hope you will understand. I don't think you will until you hold one of your own children in your arms and feel such an overwhelming love that you would do things you didn't know you could do to protect that small piece of perfection in your arms. I am happy to die if it means that you can live, and love, and have a wonderful life with those you will find to love._

_I love you, Harry._

_Be happy, my amazing boy._

_Love always and forever,_

_Mum xx_

Severus threw the letter to the ground. His hands were shaking in anger. Where had all her love gone? Mere hours ago, it had been imbibed in her, tight in her muscles, woven into her marrow, held in by her thin, pale skin. Lily had always seemed to crackle with emotion; as if there wasn't enough of her to hold it in. But all tenseness had left her body, and the only vestige of her love was left in this letter, a letter to her living son.

This letter proved that she had always meant to die. Severus had known that, and Potter should have. Severus had stepped over his body; it was obvious that he had died to defend the two, but how could he have conceived that Lily would continue living if her son had to die? Severus knew better than that.

He had never loathed anyone more than he loathed this small Potter in front of him. The boy was crying in earnest now, fat tears rolling down his rosy cheeks and into his mouth. Severus felt nothing but a deep layer of hate sitting in the pit of his stomach.

The only love Lily had left was for this boy.

What about him?

He had waited for her. He had never stopped loving her.

Every piece of the letter pointed to her role as a mother; not what she was to anyone else in the world. There was nothing in this letter for him.

Slowly, deliberately, Severus ripped Lily's letter into small pieces. He placed them on the floor.

"Incendio," he muttered.

The thick edges of the parchment curled black, and her words were eaten away by Severus' spite. The boy stopped crying, watching, entranced, transfixed by the dancing flames, destroying the only words he would ever receive from his mother. Severus was stealing this boy's memories.

He knew that he was tied to the boy from now on. He would never be able to do anything else to harm the child, because Lily had loved him. This had been his only revenge. Revenge for his mother dying while he got to live.

Severus steeled himself. Taking one last look at the small boy in front of him, Severus swept out of the room. He had to go and see Albus Dumbledore.

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><p><strong>Thoughts? Opinions? Constructive criticism? xx<strong>


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